


so very tame now

by lucylikestowrite



Series: after this life, i'll find you in the next [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, F/F, Fluff and Smut, it's a loose ocean's 8 au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-31 18:17:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15125159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucylikestowrite/pseuds/lucylikestowrite
Summary: Sara turns to Ava as she straps the seatbelt on, and Ava can't help but notice how good she looks.She shouldn't look this good after five years in prison, but she does.Maybe she even looks better than before. The lines of her arms are stronger, more defined, and there's a twinkle in her eyes that wasn't there before when she was with Oliver, wasn't there even before he framed her and got her locked up.Or, Ava picks Sara up from prison and tries to figure out if she's in love with her.





	so very tame now

**Author's Note:**

> holy crap, it's an au! and, of course, not one of the ones i had planned going into the summer, lol. but it's what i finally managed to finish, so.
> 
> imagine they're slightly aged up - probably about 10 years older than in the show.
> 
> they've been partners for fifteen years. both of them knows the other is into women, but nothing has ever happened bc they're ~crime partners and it would 'mess things up'
> 
> it's like 95% bantery fluff and 5% smut
> 
> title from ready for it bc like... that song is nothing but crime metaphors

Sara walks out of the prison gates, squinting slightly. She's wearing this dress that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Low cut, short, sparkly.

Shining like the sun, like she hasn't just spent five years in prison. There are heels on her feet, and Ava can hear them clicking on the concrete. A tiny bag swings at her side. She looks around for a second, and then she spots Ava’s car, and a smile breaks on her face, the sort of smile that she knows makes Ava melt.

The smile that Ava has always just about managed to resist. Has always had to resist, because they're partners, and partners shouldn't even fuck, let alone fall in love. Anything would mess with the rhythm, so Ava has always just about managed to resist the smile, and they've stayed at arms length for years.

They've never even kissed.

But now… now Sara’s been away for a long time, and Ava has missed her so much she's not sure she's going to be able to resist if Sara tries again. If she tries for what must be the hundredth time in the fifteen years, on and off, that they've been working together.

Sara strolls up to the car, her expression casual, her movements slow. She doesn't walk straight round to the passenger side, but instead leans down, taps on the driver’s side window.

Ava sighs, rolls it down. “Hmm?”

Sara leans down further, resting her forearms on the door. From that angle, her dress seems even more low-cut. Ava tries hard not to stare. “That's all the welcome I get?” she asks, pouting.

“Get in the car, Sara. Let's get out of here.”

“And here I thought you'd be so happy to see me,” Sara drawls.

“I'm happy to see you. Just get in the car.”

“How happy?” Sara asks, as she walks round to the other side, opening the door and sliding in. “Because I've got a few ideas about how we can celebrate.”

She turns to Ava as she straps the seatbelt on, and Ava can't help but notice how _good_ she looks. She shouldn't look this good after five years in prison, but she does. Maybe she even looks _better_ than before. The lines of her arms are stronger, more defined, and there's a twinkle in her eyes that wasn't there before when she was with Oliver, wasn't there even _before_ he framed her and got her locked up.

If he hadn't disappeared right after, Ava would've made him pay. Gotten rid of a couple of his tens of millions of dollars.

Ava decides to humour Sara briefly, just to see what she's going to say. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Sara seems almost shocked that Ava’s giving her the opportunity to elaborate, but she recovers, quickly, glancing at Ava’s hands, where they rest on the steering wheel. “Well…” she pauses, as if gauging what she can get away with. “Your fingers are still looking as good as ever, Aves.”

Ava rolls her eyes, but can't help it if her fingers grip the wheel slightly tighter. “Maybe let's just get a drink.”

Sara laughs. “You can't even humour a friend? Some friendship sex? It's been a long five years, you know,” she says, her voice suggestive, no doubt as to what she's implying.

Ava looks at her, incredulous. “You're telling me you got _nothing_ while you were in there? You're every lesbian’s fucking wet dream.”

Sara raises an eyebrow at the half compliment, but, mercifully, doesn't say anything other than, “Nope.”

“Nothing?” Ava doesn't believe her.

“Well…” Sara pauses. “It's been a long… six months.”

Ava keeps looking at Sara, easing the truth out like only she can.

(Like only she can, because Sara doesn't let anyone else work the truth out of her.)

“It's been a long three weeks, okay?” Sara says, a smirk on her face.

“Let's get a drink,” Ava says, finality in her voice.

“Okay, Sharpe,” Sara says, giving in easily, like she always does. She never pushes Ava too far. It's why they're still friends.

She crosses her arms, and Ava can see slight goosebumps on her skin. Ava reaches backwards, finds the leather jacket of Sara’s that she'd brought with her, chucks it at her. “Put that on. You're cold.”

“What would I do without you?” Sara asks, shrugging it on.

Ava starts the car, pulling out of the spot. “Well, I used to say you'd be locked up without me, but I guess that's out the window now.”

Sara looks at the prison as they drive past. She smiles at Ava. “Now you just gotta keep me from going back.”

 

 

Sara orders four drinks, and has two of them downed before they're even back at the table.

Ava looks at her with disapproval. “Your tolerance is going to be down.”

Sara looks back at Ava, disdain on her face. “My tolerance does exactly what I want it to.”

She leads them to a booth, and sits down, settling in easily, too easily. There’s a satisfied look on her face as she surveys the room. The booth she’s chosen, Ava notices, is one with a view of the whole room. It’s definitely a conscious choice. Being in that position—being able to see everything, see any threats or opportunities—makes Sara feel better, Ava knows that, and she can see it on Sara’s face. She looks confident, like she’s in charge, like she could command the whole room if she wanted to, could get anyone to do anything if she just asked.

They're quiet for a few minutes, just drinking, watching the world go by, and then Ava speaks, finally works up the courage to voice the worry that's been niggling at her since Sara's words in the car.

“When you said it was my job to make sure you don't go back, did you mean—”

“That I'm planning a new job and I need you to make sure it goes off without a hitch? Yes.”

“No.” She's not risking Sara again. Especially not when Sara doesn't know the meaning of a small job. For her, it's world-changing and high risk or nothing.

“Ava…” Sara's turning on the charm, her eyes wide.

“No. You just got out. I'm not letting you go back.”

“That's why I need you. So I don't go back.”

“No.”

“Come on, Ava, you're the best. No-one knows how to plan a— I think we do want some food, don't we?”

Ava is momentarily confused, and then looks up, and there's a waitress at their table.

Sara never misses anything, is able to switch topics in the middle of a conversation like that, effortlessly. That's part of the reason why she never got caught before Oliver stepped in—she was prepared for everything, could mould a situation to make sure it went her way without even breaking a sweat. She is almost never caught off guard, certainly not by something as pedestrian as a waitress, like the one now hovering at their table.

“We want food, right, Ava?” Sara prompts, a smile on her face that tells Ava to play along.

Ava nods, wordless. Sara smiles at the waitress. “I want something with ice cream. I've been away from ice cream for a _real long time_.” She drags the words out, her gaze on the girl intense.

“Oh. How come?” She's just being polite, but Sara takes opportunity to play with her.

“I've been on an extended… vacation.”

“No ice cream on vacation?”

“No. No ice cream. No-one as pretty as you, either.” Sara's turning the charm offensive up to 100.

The girl blinks. Ava coughs, butts in before Sara can say anything else. “Just get us whatever has ice cream, okay?” she says, exasperated. The waitress nods, hurries away, and Ava has to resist the urge to scold Sara.

“Really?” is all she ends up saying.

“Well, if you're not going to help me out in that department…” Sara trails off suggestively.

“How do you even know that—”

“She's into girls?” Sara is frustratingly good at being able to finish Ava’s sentences. She holds up her phone. The girl’s face shines out at Ava.

“You stalked her?” Ava asks, confused. That doesn’t seem exactly like a Sara move. She doesn’t usually push the boundaries of strangers _quite_ like that.

“No. God. Ava. It's a dating app. Works by location.” Ava doesn't even know when Sara had the chance the open it up, but then she's always been good at multitasking. “Do you know anything about life in the 21st century?”

“No. I like it that way.”

Sara shakes her head in disbelief, but her expression is fond. Ava knows that Sara likes her quirks. Sara lowers her voice. “Anyway, as I was saying before we were interrupted, no-one knows how to plan a heist quite like you. I need you.”

They talk like that a lot. They _need_ each other, and Ava knows it's purely on a business level, but sometimes it hurts.

She shakes her head. “I'm not doing it. I'm not risking losing you again.”

“Please, Ava. I need this.”

“You don't. You just want it.”’

The girl comes back, and Sara is about to open her mouth to say something, and then then Ava jabs her under the table, and Sara doesn't, just smiles sweetly as the waitress sets the food down. When she is gone, Sara turns to Ava. “Why don't you want me flirting with her, Aves? You jealous?”

“No.” Ava watches the girl’s retreating figure. “But she's ten years too young for you.”

Sara shrugs. “If she showed up on my app, then my age range is within her age range.”

“And how old do you say you are on that app?” Ava asks, but already knowing the answer. Sara doesn't say anything. Ava takes that as a win. “She's too young for you. Find someone age appropriate.”

“Like you?” Sara shoots back, and Ava has to fight the urge to wince, because that wasn't what Ava thought she meant, but… maybe it was. “ _You're_ not too young. You're practically _old_.”

“I'm five years older than you.”

“Ancient.”

“I despise you.”

“No,” Sara says, a grin on her face as she takes a bite of whatever it is that the waitress brought them. “You love me.”

Ava makes a noise, not really an affirmation, but not really a denial. Sara scoops up another portion, holds it out for Ava. She doesn't immediately take it, just eyes it. Warily. The gesture is almost too intimate, but it's not like they haven't done this before, haven't toyed on the edges of whatever this is for years.

“Just eat the damn ice cream, Ava.” Ava gives in, does. Whatever it is, it's good. Sara’s eyes are on her mouth, on her throat, watching her as she swallows. Looking at her like Ava is prey.

“Good?”

Ava nods.

Sara pushes the plate over to Ava. “Eat.”

Ava goes to push it back. “You ordered it. It's yours.” Sara stops it with a finger.

“You eat, I talk.” Sara obviously wants Ava’s mouth occupied, wants to be able to talk at Ava until she caves, like she always does. “And anyway, _you_ ordered it, if you remember.” There's a smirk on Sara's face, and she know she's won when Ava picks up the fork again.

“I'm still not doing the job,” Ava says, firm.

“Babe. I'm doing it anyway. I'm just more likely to fail if you don't help me.”

Ava pauses, the fork halfway to her mouth. She can see Sara’s eyes on her mouth again.

“That's blackmail. You can’t do that. That’s not fair.”

“You help me or I go back to prison when I fail because you refused to help me,” Sara says, making her voice sound as pathetic as possible, tugging on Ava’s heartstrings.

“You're insufferable.”

“Uh huh,” Sara says. “So, here's how the job’s going to go down—”

“Wait. Stop.” Ava sighs. “I didn't agree to doing it.”

“Yeah, but you're going to.” She purses her lips, looking at Ava, her eyebrows a question.

“How do you know that?”

“Because you love me, you don't want me going back to jail. And also because it's for $150 million,” Sara adds, almost like it’s an afterthought.

 

 

Ava lives on her own, out of town. You can get a lot of land for not much if you don't care about living where there are people, or facilities, or roads without potholes. She's careful with her money, living off the earnings from previous jobs, and doesn't have a need for much more.

Doesn't have a need, but that doesn't mean she doesn't keep doing it. Mainly, it's just fun, and it keeps her mind occupied.

She'd tried law enforcement. This side of things was much more exciting.

Sara walks in, dropping her stuff all over the floor like she owns the place. The purse is released first and then the leather jacket hits the floor, and she is back with nothing covering up that dress, that sinfully distracting dress.

Ava can't help but stare. Five years is a long time to think over your feelings, to examine them and re-examine them in excruciating detail. To realise that, maybe, maybe, you're in love with your partner-in-crime of over fifteen years, who's been relentlessly flirting with you for all of those years—or, at least, the years she wasn't in prison.

Maybe.

Sara looks around. “You haven't changed it at all.”

Ava shrugs. “I don't need much. I just need—”

“The simple life. I know. You've said that before.”

“You love knowing what I'm going to say, don't you?” Ava asks, trying to look annoyed. Sara moves closer, her fingers finding Ava’s blazer. In the heels she's wearing, their faces are level.

“That's why we work so well, babe. I know you.”

Sara is gone from in front of Ava as soon as she had arrived. She walks away. “Do I have a room?”

“First door at the top of the stairs.”

Sara looks back. “Shame. I was hoping we’d have to share.”

Ava doesn't dignify that with a response.

 

 

Sara wanders down a couple of hours later, wrapped in a towel, her hair wet. Ava doesn't notice her, too wrapped up in her work, until Sara coughs, pointedly.

Ava looks up, and tries not to make her shock too obvious. She take a breath, allows herself to sweep her eyes over Sara once more, then steadies her expression, and asks, “Have you been in the shower all that time?”

Sara moves closer, dripping water on the floor. “Maybe. They don't have good water pressure in prison. You do. It's an _excellent_ shower.”

Ava eyes her, makes a noise of agreement, looks back down, to try to steady herself.

“You could have so much _fun_ in there.”

Ava doesn't look up, doesn't dare see what Sara’s expression is.

She wants it to be an invitation, because she knows she'll take it. She doesn't want it to be an invitation, because she knows she'll take it.

“Maybe,” is all she says.

Sara doesn't push it, thankfully, just says, “I don't have any clothes to change into, though.”

“You couldn't con yourself some?”

Sara sits down next to her, still clutching the towel around her body. Ava allows herself one glance out of the corner of her eye, then moves back to looking straight forward. “That was the original plan, before they told me someone was waiting for me. I hadn't expected that.” Sara pauses. “You're too good to me.”

Ava shifts. “Of course I was going to pick you up,” she says, a bit gruff.

“I think I'm going to keep you forever,” Sara says, matter of fact.

 _“You've already got me_ ,” is all Ava can think, but she doesn't say it. Instead, she makes it a joke. “You're gonna have to put a ring on it if you want a guarantee.”

“The job is diamonds,” Sara says, effortlessly bringing the conversation back to what she wants.

Ava sighs. “We can talk about that later. First, you need some clothes.” She pauses, considering. “All my stuff is going to be too big.”

“No-one’s left anything here in the five years I've been away?” Sara asks, her voice so innocent that, for a second, Ava doesn't get what she's asking.

“No, I—” Ava stops, realizing.

Sara is smiling at her. Her hair is dripping onto Ava’s sleeve. Ava can't bring herself to care, despite the fact that the jacket is expensive. She's not vain, but she does like a good suit, and they're the only thing she spends actual amounts of money on.

“No-one?” Sara asks.

“No-one back here,” Ava says, shifting, uncomfortable. “A couple of other girls in other places.”

“Other places?” Sara raises an eyebrow, and Ava can see her making assumptions.

“Not— god not like, public, fucking hell, Sara.”

“I've done worse.”

She's doing worse right now: sitting there, naked beneath that towel, not even inches away because of how close they are, their legs touching.

“Their apartments,” Ava says, like she needs to clarify, like she owes Sara an explanation.

It's ridiculous. They're not together. They've _never_ been together, and Sara has all but admitted that she spent the entire five years she was locked up getting laid. There's no reason Ava should feel guilty about sleeping with people, and yet, she does.

She's a grown woman. She can have sex with whoever she wants. The only problem is that the person she wants is the person she decided long ago she could never have.

Who she had decided she couldn’t have, and so had unconsciously (or maybe consciously) searched out women that look like her. All of the women in the five years (all five of them, pitiful compared to Sara’s record) had been blonde, all with either had her swagger or her cadence or her wit.

Never all of them at once, never enough to properly replace her, but enough that the pattern was obvious, if you'd care to look for it.

Sara is quiet for a second, then speaks. “So none of their clothes are here? Nothing my size?”

Ava shakes her head.

“I guess I'm wearing your clothes, then. Even if they will be too big,” she continues, when she sees Ava open her mouth.

Ava sighs internally, the thought of Sara in her clothes just a little too much for her. “Give me a second, I’ll find some you some stuff. I’m terrible at online shopping. I always get the wrong size.”

“That’s why you need me. I’m excellent at shopping.”

“You’re excellent at _stealing_. I’m not sure it’s the same.”

Sara waves this away. “Whatever. I just need some clothes. I can’t stay naked forever.”

The reminder that Sara is sitting next to her with nothing but a towel between Ava and everything she hasn’t been able to get out of her head since she learnt Sara’s release date is enough to spur Ava into action. She gets up abruptly, heading towards her bedroom.

Rooting down in the bottom of her closet, there’s a couple of boxes, the boxes where she had dumped every piece of clothing she’d never remembered to send back in time.

She pulls out a shirt, and some jeans that look like they might just about fit Sara. They’ll be too long, but that can’t be helped.

She walks back into the living room, and Sara is still waiting, a look on her face that Ava can’t quite read. When Ava chucks the clothes at her, she looks at them, a vague expression of disdain on her face.

“Don’t complain. That shirt’s expensive, even if it's not exactly your style.”

“Wasn’t going to.”

Ava watches Sara’s retreating figure, her heart in her mouth.

 

 

Twenty minutes later, Sara hasn’t re-emerged. It’s probably nothing, but there’s always a chance Sara has run off. She’s done it before. She’s not the sort of woman who likes to be pinned down. The room is on the first floor, but a one storey fall isn’t exactly difficult for Sara. If she thought Ava wasn't going to agree to the job, she might have just cut loose.

Ava knocks.

Sara’s voice is quiet when she says, “Yeah.” She pauses. “You can come in.”

Ava opens the door, a question on her lips. “Are you o—” Ava stops, both physically, and with her question, when Sara turns to the door. Her hair is dry, styled into soft waves that make her look even younger than she usually does. On her face is a dusting of makeup, makeup that must be Ava’s. She’s wearing the jeans, the hems rolled up artfully.

She looks beautiful.

But that’s not what stops Ava.

It’s that the shirt is only half on. Ava’s heart feels tight, this pressure in her chest that has been there for years suddenly getting worse. She shuts the door behind her. Closing it without looking, without taking her eyes off Sara.

“Sara…”

None of the buttons are done up. The front hangs open. She’s not wearing a bra, and everything is on show. Her skin seems endless, smooth, and marred only by a few scars. One over her abs, one just above her hip and one above the curve of a breast.

Ava can see everything, and they’ve suddenly crossed a new line. This is unfamiliar territory, more overt, more forward than Sara’s innuendos and teases over the years. Sara has never gone this far before, and it’s definitely a conscious, planned push at their boundaries, because Sara had _told_ her to come in. She's laying her cards on the table, very deliberately.

Sara looks at her. Her fingers go to the buttons at the very bottom of the shirt. She does the first one up, slowly.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” Ava says, breathless, a stupid, knee jerk reaction, the words coming out before she can stop them.

“Mine is gross. Yours definitely wouldn’t fit me, Aves.” Sara's voice is low, looking pointedly at Ava’s chest.

“I—” Ava can’t say anything. She steps closer, without thinking. Sara undoes the button she had just done up. “We shouldn’t—”

The button gets done up again. Ava gets it, gets the game. Punishment and reward.

“Make a choice, babe. Make a choice, and whatever you choose, I’ll respect that. If you say no, I’ll stop. Forever. I promise. I just need to know.” Sara's voice is softer than it ever usually is. This is her being vulnerable. That, Ava knows.

She's seen this version of Sara a couple of times—utterly sincere, without a hint of teasing—and she knows what it means: that Sara is being completely, 100% serious.

Ava takes another step forward, and the button is undone, and, as she watches the fabric fall apart, she knows she’s not letting it get done up again. She _can't_ let that happen. Not now. One more step, and she’s in front of Sara. Sara looks up at her, tilting her chin, tilting it just right, so it would be so easy to lean down. “I missed you, Ava.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Ava swallows, and walks up to the precipice. “Take the shirt off.”

Sara does, shrugging it easily off her shoulders.

The fabric falls silently to the floor. Ava looks down, following it with her gaze, and then looks up, right into Sara’s eyes.

Ava waits, roaming over Sara's face, then sighs. “Kiss me,” she says, jumping off, giving in, giving in after fifteen years of trying to ignore how she feels. Giving in but still trying to maintain a little bit of control by pretending she's setting the rules. Sara might have masterminded this, maneuvered them together, but Ava’s going to be in charge of how it happens. She needs that, at least.

Sara kisses her with everything she has, and it’s everything Ava has ever dreamt about.

It’s searing hot, Sara’s hands gripping down tight on Ava’s neck. She teases Ava’s mouth open, hardly having to make an effort, because Ava’s lips fall open with only the slightest of coaxing. She's stopped resisting, is just letting her body react how it wants to.

Sara curves her back, presses her body in sinfully close against Ava, naked from the waist up, and now Ava can feel _everything_ , and it’s overwhelming.

Ava pulls away, groans. “What about the job?”

“What _about_ the job?” Sara asks.

“Partners who are fucking always fail.”

“Not true. Not always.” Sara says. “And we're special. Better. _We’re_ not going to fail.”

“What if we do?”

Sara pauses, then pulls away, falling back onto the bed, leaning back on her hands. Laying herself out for the woman in front of her. “Honestly, Ava, if it was a choice between finally getting you, and pulling off the job, I’d choose you.”

Ava is taken aback. “Really?”

“Spent four years planning the heist. Spent the last year trying to figure out how I felt about you, how I’d feel if we messed up because we were too close.”

“And? How do you feel about me?” Ava feels like she can’t breathe.

“Fuck me, Ava,” Sara says, in answer, and it doesn’t seem like she’s going to say more.

“Sure?”

Sara nods.

That will have to be enough. Ava moves closer, her finger going to the zipper on Sara’s (Ava’s) jeans. When she pulls it down, there’s nothing below, no fabric, and she can't hold back a gasp.

Sara looks up. “Did I forget to mention that I didn’t have any underwear, either?”

“Yes,” Ava says, gritting her teeth.

“Oops.” Her face is smug, and Ava kisses it away, because that’s something she can do now.

Ava’s fingers press down. The angle is awkward, but Sara’s eyes still roll back when her fingers work low enough, and Sara's worked up enough that everything is easier than it might have otherwise been at that angle. Ava doesn’t know what Sara likes, not really, but she knows how to read Sara, knows that like breathing, knows what the tiniest movements of her face mean, and that's enough. It means it’s easy to course correct, to change up her movements at every bit of feedback she gets, whimpers and moans, to make it feel as good as possible.

At some point, Sara gasps, shudders, and then she’s pawing at the jeans, trying to pull them down. “Off. I need them off. I need you to— I can’t unless you—”

Ava pauses her fingers, drawing another shiver out of Sara. “Say it. Say it and I’ll take them off.”

“I need your fucking fingers in me, Ava,” Sara says, the words a desperate plea.

Ava takes off the jeans, resuming her movements as she pulls them down, one leg at a time, and then, for the first time, Sara is entirely naked in front of her, and Ava knows there is no way she’s ever going back to what they were before, not now.

She’s got Sara in her lap before she can think about what she’s doing.

Sara’s mouth falls open when she gets what she wanted, when Ava finally fully gives in, her fingers pressing inside. Sara is perfect, feels perfect around her, exactly how Ava had always fantasised she might be.

When she falls apart, shaking and sweating, she kisses Ava, biting down as the strongest shocks rock through her.

“You were in every fantasy I had while I was in there, Sharpe,” she says, against Ava’s lips.

Ava pulls her fingers away, and Sara gasps, one last time, one last perfect intake of breath, and then her hands are going to Ava’s top. Ava shakes her head. “No. When we’re done. Not before. I still don’t trust you not to drop me if we fail because of this. You’re not touching me until we’re done.”

Sara pouts, but Ava can tell she isn't really offended, because, despite their partnership, it’s never been one of complete trust. They’ve always been slightly wary around each other. It’s better that way.

“We’re not going to fail, and even if we do, I’m staying,” Sara says, kissing her again. “But we’re not going to fail, and when we’re done, once we’ve got those diamonds, I’m going to fuck you until you forget how much money we just made.”

Ava raises an eyebrow. “You’re confident in your abilities.”

“You’re going to forget your own name, Aves.”

Ava blinks, tries to ignore the thoughts that are running through her head. She takes a breath. “If we’re going to pull this off, we need a team. At least seven of us.”

Sara nods, somehow looking serious despite the fact that she’s still naked in Ava’s lap. “I’ve got a few people in mind.”

“Who might they be?”

“I forgot.” Sara presses her lips together. “I’m going to need my memory jogging.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Your fingers might help me remember,” Sara says, ever hopeful.

“No.” Ava shakes her head. “Give me a name first, and then we’ll see.”

“There’s this girl called Zari. Tech. Total genius. And I know a kid called Sin. She’s a pickpocket.” Sara’s voice is rushed, and she squirms slightly under Ava’s touch.

“That’s two names,” Ava says, humming in approval, her mouth finding Sara’s neck, exploring skin she’s always wanted to.

“I know. I was hoping that would persuade you. Is that en—” Sara’s voice cuts off, because Ava’s fingers are back on her, teasing.

“You ready again already?” Ava asks, her voice quiet.

Sara nods, eager, no room for doubt in her expression. “I need you. I’ve always needed you.”

“Okay.”

 

Ava storms outside, needing the fresh air. Her throat feels tight. She hadn't even known that he'd resurfaced, let alone that he was back in the city. Hearing his name had almost made her feel sick, her stomach turning.

Sara follows her. Part of Ava wants that, part of Ava wants her to leave her alone. When it becomes clear that Sara’s going to follow Ava however far away from the house she goes, she turns, her eyes blazing. “A job inside a fucking job, Sara?”

“Ava… it's fine. It'll be fine.”

“Why do you even need to think about him anymore?” The words Ava wants to say—’Now that you've got me?’—hang obvious in the air.

“He got me locked up for five years.”

“This isn't how we do things. We tell each other shit like this.” Ava's not shouting, but she almost is, her voice raised louder than she would like.

She's seething, and the worst reason is _why_ —she's terrified that if they fail because of this, that Sara, despite her assurances to the contrary, is going to use it as an excuse to run.

It's another cog in an already precariously balanced machine, and it would be so easy for things to fall apart, for something to go wrong, for one of them or both of them or all of them to end up in jail.

“You didn't need to know,” Sara says, moving to walk away.

Ava reaches out, grabbing her wrist, pulling her back. Sara lets herself be drawn in close, not fighting the fingers that encircle her wrist. She looks at Ava, her face a hard line.

“You're telling me you never wanted to get back at him?” Sara asks, a challenge.

“Not like this,” Ava says, gritting her teeth. “Why are you risking the job like _this_?”

“Because he took me away from _you_ , Ava,” she says, like it's obvious.

Ava’s grip loosens. “But you were— you were _with_ him. You were happy. You didn't need me.”

“I was with him because you didn't want me,” Sara says with finality, pulling free, and walking away, the wind blowing in her hair.

Ava stands there, watching her go, still angry, but feeling a bit like she's going to cry, as well.

 

 

She turns up at the rendezvous point, and Sara rakes her eyes over the suit Ava is wearing.

She'd seen it two days previously, had made comments about wanting to rip it off with her teeth, and from the way Sara’s looking at her, Ava has a feeling that, if they weren't in public, Sara might have thrown away weeks of planning then and there.

Sara smiles, and Ava forgets that she was ever even mad.

Maybe, even if they fail, Sara might still want her.

 

 

But they don’t fail.

Sara kisses her, pulls her clothes away, discarding them so quickly you'd think she was going to die if she didn't get Ava naked right that second. The diamonds on the side table are almost an afterthought. It's like she did this whole thing just to get Ava, to convince her they could still work like they used to even if they were _together_ , and maybe Sara really had done that.

It wouldn't be the first time she'd set in motion a ridiculously elaborate plan to get what she wants.

And what she wants is, very obviously, Ava. Her touch burns. It seems like she's on a mission to touch every square inch of Ava's skin, and she's not going to stop her, because it feels so good.

Sara's fingers are urgent, hard. Her mouth is the same, relentless on Ava. Her breath comes in gasps. Sara works her up, higher and higher, until her head is spinning, until she can't think of anything but Sara, and how she should never have held back for so long.

And then Sara changes something in her movements, twists her fingers slightly differently, and Ava forgets her own name.


End file.
